


Lost Night

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (but only briefly at the start), Angel Castiel, Angst, Best Friends, Dreams, Dreamwalking, Fluff, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oneshot, Pining Dean, Pre-Slash, Sad Dean Winchester, and some art I made based on that dream, based on an actual dream I had
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 00:25:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15718143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Dean is so afraid of losing his best friend that he dreams Cas is floating away. His longing is great enough that the real-life Castiel is summoned, dreamwalking into Dean's subconscious – and, as The Beatles once said: "the minute you let him under your skin... then you begin to make it better..."





	Lost Night

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Amara and Libby!!
> 
> So! In celebration of 2,000 subscribers on AO3 (wow???), here's a 2,000 word fic! Well, it's a little longer. But there's enough for each of you to adopt a word (love it, care for it, make it a bed out of socks), and when new people arrive, there's some words left for them, too. c:

_And any time you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain;_  
_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders..._

 

In the backseat of the Impala, Dean feel asleep to the melodious crooning of ‘ _Unbreak my Heart_ ’.

Soft rock always worked for Sammy, but it worked just as well for Dean – even while parked in a noisy shipping dock, way out in Georgia. Blessedly, the music served to smother the clanking and the beeping of machines and nightmen going about their work.

For the first time in a long time, Dean dreamed.

A lot of it was murky, blurry, and hazed with discontent. There were shoulder-touches, and the low murmur of Castiel imparting some wisdom from the corner of his lips, blue eyes turned towards Dean. Within the cage of Dean’s ribs, there pulsed the general concept of altruism, glowing, grasped tight with a fist so he couldn’t let go – _give to others. do for others. live for others._

The yellow lights of the bunker became a plain backdrop, and the music swelled. A choir spoke with only the faintest hint of a melody, chanting, _Lost... Night_. A whisper full of emotion. Kinda sounded like Moby.

Dean stretched for Castiel with a gasp, realising he was about to leave.

But he rose from the ground anyway, an untethered balloon. His trenchcoat drifted from his body as he turned on his head, rising against gravity, and now Castiel floated, no weighted boots to hold him down.

Dean took his hand, wanting to keep him.

But Castiel was still rising, feet up over his body. His chin tilted towards Dean, his expression caught in a single frame of anguish. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to _go_. But here he was, rising anyway, into an endless yellow nothing.

Dean began to weep, heart crushed in his chest, as Castiel’s hand slipped from his own. Tears spilled from his eyes, wet and warm and familiar on his skin, clinging like decades of loss he’d never been able to shake.

He parted his lips and sang, his voice breaking, taking Castiel’s string so the kite wouldn’t blow away, so Dean didn’t lose his balloon.

_I try to save everybody,_

Minor key. Gruff; his voice hurt his throat. His words came out grey and old.

_but I can’t hold on._

Downshift in the notes. Lower. _Aching_.

He’d lost everyone. And now he was losing Castiel too.

Between Dean’s chest and Castiel’s, stretched a single connecting heartstring.

Segments of a phrase hung on the black line like they were taped there, more space growing between the lightbox letters as Castiel rose higher and higher, reaching for Dean but unable to touch him.

LOS

T

NIG

HT

And Dean reached, holding so tightly to his string, because it was the last thing he had left. Castiel was almost out of sight.

Dean did not let go of the string, he didn’t dare. But its other end floated down before him, with nothing attached.

Cas was gone.

Dean was alone.

He wept, shaking, his body frail and his bones breaking to envelop his heart even tighter. He felt the pain to his deepest essence, that long-suffering soul of his.

Grey sobs became black in his chest, but the empty world around him remained yellow. Light like the sunshine. Warm like a summer field. But plain like a void, with no depth, no substance, and no feeling.

He heard a breath.

Dean inhaled, turning to his left. Castiel stood beside him in the void, eyes turned upward to where he’d floated before. He was back?!

“Cas—?”

Castiel eyes flicked to Dean, and he gave a small, gentle smile. “Hello, Dean.”

“It’s you. What’re you—? How are you here?” Dean wiped his tears, insides fluttering with hope and joy and trepidation. He knew as well as anyone that when a balloon floated away, it never came back.

If Cas was back...?

Then... that meant...

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Dean realised. “This is a dream.”

Castiel’s eyes sparkled, smile becoming more tender. “Yes.”

“Am I dreaming you?”

“No,” Castiel said. “No, I, um.” His eyes darted away, then back. “I felt your longing. You didn’t quite pray for me, but I sensed you needed me.”

Dean stared, lips parted. “But you— You left. You left me, Cas. We had a fight. Then you and Sam, you got in your car and you drove away.”

“I’m not with you physically,” Castiel assured him. “Only psychically.”

“You mind-melded with me, long-distance?”

“I’m four hundred and seventy two miles away,” Castiel said. “Sam is in the shower.”

Dean grinned slowly, but retained his doubt, struggling to believe Castiel came here willingly. “So you don’t come when I call you, asking for help on hunts. Not when I’m stranded in the middle of nowhere without gas. Not when I’m running into a horde of ghouls, or exchanging my hunting services for some stranger’s word that they’ll back me up next time. You won’t come if I’m in danger and I need you. But you’ll come when I have a bad dream?”

Castiel lowered his gaze. Weeks apart had left impressions of fatigue under his eyes. Dean wasn’t sure whether to feel good or bad that Cas was worse off without him. Dean was the one who drove them apart.

“Your heart was breaking,” Castiel said, softly as anything. “Because of my absence. I couldn’t ignore that.”

“But you can ignore my actual, out-loud cries for help?”

“You don’t long for me the same way in such instances,” Castiel stated. “You want someone to have your back. You’re not specifically craving _me_. Tonight you were craving me.”

Dean glanced away into the empty yellow, trying to hide a flustered smile. “I’m not _craving_ you.”

Castiel looked up. “I’m still up there. Lost in your dream abyss. So is Sam. And Bobby. And your mother. And hundreds of other people. We’re all drifting in your mind without a tether to pull us back down.”

“Your point being?”

“ _I’m_ here, in your dream, and they’re not. You were craving me.”

“But you dreamwalked, Cas. You have magic powers and they don’t.”

Castiel gave Dean a blank look. “Circumstances aside, you could’ve dreamed up _anyone_ to appear beside you to comfort you.”

“And?”

“And,” Castiel said, taking Dean’s hand – _whoa! holding hands!!_ – “you dreamed up _me_.”

He took a step, and he and Dean shot upward by a hundred feet, Dean yelling in alarm, looking down but not able to see where they started, it was all unblemished yellow. Rushing up, Dean felt the night air in his hair, rapid ascension making his ears pop, his feet dangling helplessly until—

Dean and Castiel landed on a cloud. It was soft and squishy under Dean’s boots.

And pink. Cotton-candy pink.

“Uh,” Dean said.

Castiel’s eyes wrinkled with a smile, giving Dean’s hand a tug. “Let’s go and find everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone you’ve lost.”

They began to climb from pink cloud to pink cloud, Dean following Castiel’s lead. Endless purple skies scattered with stars came into view. Dean watched the sight in awe, pushing his hands into cool fluff, bowed legs kicking until he knelt onto a cloud, then reached for Castiel’s hand, helped up to the next plush island.

The clouds became more densely-packed. Each was a different shade of the pastel rainbow, from warm cyan through to a highly-saturated blueberry. They had little sparkles inside them, and atop them; Dean reached to touch the white lights, and they collected onto his palm like floating glitter.

“Huh,” he said, mesmerised. He wiped the sparkles on his jeans, and kept climbing.

This pocket of the benighted dreamscape felt humid like a bathhouse, warm air perfumed with dewdrops and mist. It was stifling – suffocating, even, as the conscious part of Dean’s mind knew that the stratosphere had little air, and outer space had none, so it seemed logical to struggle for breath.

He paused, ankle-deep in a starfield, hand on his chest. He looked at Castiel in panic, but was quickly reassured: Castiel returned to his side, and cupped Dean’s cheek in his hand. Dean inhaled easily, and smiled in relief.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

Castiel’s lips tilted into a grin. “I didn’t do anything.”

“What? Yes, you did.”

“It’s your dream, Dean,” Castiel smiled. “You imagined it. And so it was.”

“So, if I imagine a giant pizza—”

Dean held out his hands, already holding a pizza. There were tiny, living cows grazing on its grassy surface. Chuckling, Dean peered closer, and was startled to see that the cows were only blocks of cheese, speckled across the pizza, and the grass was avocado spread.

“Aw,” Dean said. “I liked the tiny cows.”

The pizza mooed. Shocked, Dean dropped it, and it fell into the rainbows below. But as Dean grew concerned about the tiny cows, the pizza landed on a cloud with a puff of glitter mist, and the cows continued munching on their grass.

“God, dreams are weird,” Dean said, shaking his head as he lifted his hands, reaching for Castiel. Castiel took his wrists and hauled him up to the next cloud, Dean sinking his boots into the fluff to push himself up into pink light. Up here, a wind rushed, full of warmth and love. It lifted the tails of Castiel’s coat, ruffling his hair, making Dean’s plaid shirt billow past his back.

“Just a little further,” Castiel said, looking up. There were figures of luminescence in the middle-distance, within a swirl of clouds. The figures peered down off their stormcloud balcony, legs swinging, chattering excitedly as they saw Dean and Castiel approach. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“For what?” Dean said, unsure. “They’re just figments of my imagination, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, kneeling to touch a cloud, and moulding it like a pillow until it became stairs. The stairs extended upward, up-up-up to the pretty lights. “But given they’re still here, I think they want to talk to you. Or more accurately – you want to talk to them.”

Dean took Castiel’s hand again, and they climbed the cloud stairs.

“What do I say to them?” Dean asked.

“What do you want to say to them?” Castiel asked, looking back at Dean. “Half these people are dead. Half of them you just haven’t seen in a long time. Two of them are me and Sam.” He raised his eyebrows. “What would you say to me and Sam?”

Dean hung his head. “I’m sorry I was such a jerk.”

“And?” Castiel smiled.

“And next time I’m pissed off I’ll try asking for a hug instead of pushing you away,” Dean said, brimming with sarcasm but overflowing with honesty. “Seriously.” He swallowed, making sure Castiel met his gaze before he promised, “I mean it. No more bull.”

“Except on pizza,” Castiel smiled.

“Except on pizza,” Dean grinned.

They reached the top of the stairs, and were met with a crowd of glowing humanoid figures. Children, adults, men, women, and other, more indistinct creatures. They were all featureless, two-dimensional, but radiated white light into their galaxy, each of them a star.

Castiel looked carefully at Dean, wondering what he would say.

Dean gulped. “Cas, I don’t... I don’t know.” He looked at Castiel in worry. “These aren’t ghosts, they’re _my_ ghosts.”

“Yes.”

“So there’s no bright light for them to walk into. They have no unfinished business. There’s no physical tie to the world I need to salt-n-burn. The only thing keeping them here is... me.” Dean’s breath shuddered, finally understanding. “Me not wanting to let go.”

“You try to save everybody,” Castiel said softly, almost sing-song, copying the tune Dean had sung before.

“But I... can’t hold on. I never let go of their strings, even when they’re long-gone.” Dean clenched his jaw, eyes glazed with the light of silent masses. All of them waiting. “And I should let go. I need to.”

He hesitated.

“I can’t say one thing to all of them,” he said quietly, head turned to Castiel. “I failed everyone differently, there’s no words to... say sorry for that.”

“Dean...” The compassion in Castiel’s eyes went deeper than the universe around them. “You didn’t fail. You expect too much of yourself. You always do the best you can, don’t you?”

“Psh, obviously,” Dean frowned. “What else would I do?”

“Then,” Castiel said, “you cannot expect to do better than it’s possible to do. Your best improves with every attempt. But...?” He gestured to the silent, listening crowd. “You’re holding onto perceived failure. Learn from it, that’s all you need to do. Learn from where you went wrong. And do better next time.”

“But people got hurt. People _died_.”

“And you’re sorry.” Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand. “People are punished for their crimes, to keep them from doing wrong again, or to teach them what they did was bad. But there’s no penance that carries more weight than sorrow and remorse. You have no intention of doing harm, and you never make the same mistake twice. The fact you’re sorry is only a marker of how loving you are.”

Dean stared at Castiel, eyes brimming with tears. They were both sorry for a thousand things. Castiel spoke from a place of experience.

“Besides,” Castiel said softly, “your occupation helps more than it hurts. You either hunt monsters for the good of the many, and live with the results – or don’t hunt, and more innocent people are worse off. Your acts are unselfish. Even when your actions sometimes have an upsetting result.”

Dean wet his lips, bowing his head and letting a single tear fall. “I want to wake up now.”

“Do you have nothing more to do here?”

“I can’t let go of everyone all at once. One by one. I’ll say goodbye one by one.” He touched Castiel’s middle, warm shirt under his fingertips. “Starting with you, tonight.”

“So you believe you’ll return to this place next time you dream.”

“I always come back here here, Cas,” Dean said. “I just never knew what to do before.”

Castiel gave Dean a subtle smile. “When you wake, you’ll be alone.”

Dean nodded. He’d resigned himself to being alone from now on.

“This isn’t goodbye, Dean,” Castiel told him. “I want to see you again. I forgive you.”

One ghost vanished from the front of the crowd.

Dean saw the disappearance, and exhaled, relieved. “Then come find me. You and Sam. I’m parked by a river dock in Georgia.”

Nodding once, Castiel smiled. He cocked his head to the side, as if listening, then began to sing, “ _Re-mem-ber, to let him in-to your heart..._ ”

“What?”

“ _Then you can sta-aart, to make it – bet-ter..._ ”

“‘ _Hey Jude_ ’?”

“It’s playing on your car radio,” Castiel said. “Mmm... mm, mmm, m-m-m-mmmm...”

Dean chuckled, patting Castiel’s chest. “Take a sad song, and make it better. Just like you, man.” He sighed, managing a content smile. “Thanks, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel said, eyes gleaming. “Sweet dreams.”

Dean pressed himself heart-to-heart with his best friend, hugging tight. “Sweet dreams, Cas.”

Castiel vanished in a puff of sparkles. And Dean woke with a gasp.

_Beeeetter, better, better, better, better, better, OH!_  
_Naa... naa, na – na-na-na-na!_

Dean sat up.

_Na-na-na-na! Heey, Jude..._

Dean let go of a breath, and with his breath went of one of his ghosts. One balloon at the end of a kitestring. He smiled.

After a thousand and one lost nights – lost sleep; frantic, restless hours full of nightmares and no dreams – Castiel was the one who helped make those lost nights found. Castiel was the one who, when released, would always come back down.

_Naa... naa, na – na-na-na-na!_  
_Na-na-na-na! Heyy, Jude..._

**{ the end }**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone for being here, and reading my stuff, and allowing me ample opportunities to practise my drawing skills. I'm THRILLED that there's so many of you, and I'm looking forward to sharing beautiful things with you for the entirety of the foreseeable future. ♥  
> If you haven't clicked this link already, please do: [**How to support me as a writer and an artist!!**](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/174914543205/how-to-make-sure-elmiealmaasi-writes-forever) (Reblog if you can??)  
>  Thank you again, you magical creatures. I wish for endless good things to happen to you.  
> ☆ Elmie x
> 
> P.S. Subscribe on [**THIS OTHER PAGE**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/) (not this current page) if you want new Destiel fics in your email inbox!!


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